


Paradigm

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Series: Paradigm Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on a song, John is in love, M/M, Sherlock is in Love, and also kinda trash, just so you're aware, like all of my fics, part of a series, they're both jealous, they're idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 05:36:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12720693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: I'm so ashamed to see my weakness fill your eyes.They confess in the empty hearse and everything from there is a struggle of jealousy, betrayal, and hurting each other.





	Paradigm

PARADIGM

 _Falling to my knees before you. So ashamed to see my weakness fill your eyes._

Sherlock looked up at John from where he crouched on the floor of the train carriage, “I can’t. I can’t do it, John. I’m so sorry. Go now. Just... go.”

John stepped forward, looked down at the bomb, threw his hands behind his head, and groaned, “There’s no point now! There’s not enough time for us to get away and if we don’t do this other people will die!”

“I never said anything about me going, John,” Sherlock responded, genuine tears in his eyes. 

John stepped forward again, angrily pointing at him, “Don’t you dare think for one second I’m leaving you behind. I may be pissed but I would _never_ leave you to die. _Ever._ ”

 _Now I face the consequence of my betrayal._

“I never meant to hurt you, John. I did it all to _save_ you. Can’t you see that? I jumped to save _you._ I got tortured to save _you._ I’m letting you marry her because your happiness is what’s most important to me so don’t you dare tell me you’re pissed because I saved your life.”

John looked shocked for a moment before his ire returned, “Don’t act all selfless now. We’re going to die here so I won’t get to marry her! So take your selflessness and shove it!”

“You were the reason I kept breathing, John! I could’ve died overseas and you would’ve never known the difference! I gave you an out and you decided not to take it. So don’t blame me because your moral code kept you standing there!”

 

“Well maybe if you would’ve told me you loved me before you left we wouldn’t have to worry about any of this! And don’t try to deny it, I can see it in your face whenever you look at me,” John snapped, pointing his finger even more, “You could’ve saved yourself, and me, so much pain. But you let that die with you.”

“ _It’s you I rely on!_ Don’t you dare make me feel alone in this now!” Sherlock snapped back. The tears had started flowing down his cheeks but he knew, despite the fact that he had stopped the bomb, he’d lost John forever. Because he was right. He could’ve saved them all of this. 

“I’m sorry. But you know we wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this if you had.” John held out his hand and pulled Sherlock to his feet and into an embrace and god how Sherlock relished in it. Even though they weren’t going to die here, he could’ve died happily. 

The police showed up moments later. John gave him a look of knowing disdain and slight amusement and just from that Sherlock could tell that not all was lost. Just most. 

_Do we sacrifice? Let our story die? Let me stay awhile. Let our love survive._

Sherlock watched John as he slouched in his chair, eyes bright with alcohol. He looked so content being back in 221B and it made Sherlock’s heart tighten. He wanted this more than he ever wanted anything else. But this would be one of the last times John would be here in this context. That, too, made his heart seize. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” John asked, taking a sip of his Scotch, daring flashing behind his eyes.

Sherlock took a sip of his own drink, building his courage, “Do you want the real answer to that?”

“What if I do?” John parried, moving forward in his seat.

Sherlock did the same, looking directly into John’s eyes, “I’m looking at you like this because I’m ridiculously in love with you. Because you’re getting married in two days. Because you haven’t looked this comfortable anywhere else but here. Because this may be the last time I see you here in this context. Because, again, I’m ridiculously in love with you. And you can tell me I’m selfish for saying that, but it’s the truth.”

John looked back into his eyes, tears gleaming behind them, “It’s not selfish. I’m the one being selfish. I’m the one getting married. I could’ve broken it off with Mary when you came back, but I didn’t. How did everything get so fucked?”

“You know how, and why, John,” Sherlock replied, sitting back.

John frowned and did the same, sipping at his drink again. A few minutes later, John looks intently at Sherlock, “Sherlock,” he whispered, then cleared his throat, “can I kiss you? Just once?”

Sherlock shook his head, “You know that’d be a bad idea. And you know it would only make your inner turmoil worse.”

“Then why did you tell me all you did?” John yelled.

“Because you asked for it! Don’t get angry with me because you asked for it! I’m dying because I am the one letting you go. I can’t have you and I’m trying to come to terms with that and I can’t do that if this how the rest of my life is going to be. You need to make a decision, John. But I know that it’s not going to be me. And I have to come to terms with it.”

“Why do we keep hurting each other like this?” 

Sherlock was taken aback by the question and the sudden sobriety of the two of them, “Because it’s all we know how to do, I guess. And I don’t think we can change that now.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Sherlock.”

“Then make a decision, John. Her or me. It’s as simple as that.”

“I can’t right now. I’m going to go. Chances are neither of us are going to remember this in the morning. But just know that I do love you. More than you know.” John said, standing. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Sherlock said, putting his face in his hands. 

“You said it to me. It’s only fair that I say it back. But like I said, we won’t remember this in the morning. I’ll see you at the wedding. Sleep well, love.” And he left.

They both remembered in the morning.

 _Perfect sky shadowed by my lies. Good enough for always wanting more._

The wedding was a disaster. The wedding was beautiful. John’s vows, to Sherlock, seemed hollow. And he knew John heard him when he whispered _I do_ in time with Mary. They both knew who they really wanted standing across from them, but it was wasted breath and wasted time. 

Sherlock’s best man speech brought everyone to tears. John hugged him _so tightly_ that it felt like that moment was _theirs._ That they were the ones who had exchanged vows. And then there was the threat of murder. The murder of James Sholto, John’s ex-commander. 

John’s voice as he shouted, “Whatever you’re doing in there, James, stop it right now,” was strained, nearly caught in his throat. James. Not Major. Not Sholto. _James._ It was a lance through Sherlock’s heart. They knew each other better than they let on. Mary’s “Neither of us were the first, you know,” rang loud and clear. 

When Sherlock stayed back to assist John, his bedside manner was far more familiar than a major-captain relationship, “Could you put anymore pressure on the wound, Watson? I think it’s staunched quite well.”

“Do shut up, James. Or I will actually hurt you,” John replied. 

“Oh, it’s not like you haven’t done already.”

“I’m sorry. I know.”

When John left to wash his hands, Sherlock sidled a bit closer to James, shuffling his feet awkwardly. 

“Ask your question, Mr. Holmes. I won’t tell him,” James said, sitting stoic in his bandage. 

“How did you bare losing him?” Sherlock asked, wishing he had somewhere to put his hands to keep them from fidgeting. 

James sighed, “You don’t, Sherlock. You just don’t. John Watson is terrible at making decisions. But if I know him as much as I think I do, you won’t be waiting much longer.”

“I disagree. She’s pregnant.”

James tilted his head, “She is?” He read Sherlock’s face a bit closer, “It’s not his.” It wasn’t a question.

“I can’t tell him,” Sherlock said.

“No, you can’t,” James agreed, “but do you want him living a lie for the rest of his life?”

Before Sherlock could answer, John returned, saying, “Alright girls, enough gossiping. You’re good as new, Major. Though it’s not the first time I had to patch you up in a dire situation. You alright to stay or are you going home?”

James sighed, “I think it would be best if I went home, John. Wouldn’t want to cause any more issues. Head back to your new wife, John. She’s been waiting.”

“I’ll help you get out safely, Major,” Sherlock said after John’s face pinched with concern.

“You sure?” John asked. Sherlock nodded, looking to James who had a smile in his eyes. John smiled, not his usual thousand watt smile for really joyous occasions, which this should be, but it was a smile. And with that, he left.

“He’s not happy, James. You can see it too, right?”

James nodded, solemn, “Even I know where he’d be happier. But one of you is oblivious.”

Sherlock shook his head, “We’re not oblivious. We came to that conclusion on his stag night. He knows that it’s killing me inside to let him go. I know, somewhere in him, it’s killing him to go. We know what we want but we don’t know how to get it.” He paused, thinking if he should say what he was thinking to the major who looked at him expectantly, “I’m completely in love with him, Major.”

James laughs lightly, “He’s easy to love. Hard to let go. Trust me, I’m still trying.”

“Were you two together in Afghanistan? I’m sorry if that’s out of line, but I can’t conclude everything.”

“We were. Briefly. And that really wasn’t either of our faults. It lasted about a month before he got shot. Then he got home and found you. And I can’t be too mad at him for that.”

“You’d have every right to be,” Sherlock replied, moving to help James up.

“We weren’t serious. Well, not in the way normal people can be. But I will admit that I loved him. Still do somewhere deep down. I think in this moment you’d have the right to keep him. He had you longer,” James replied, wrapping his good arm around Sherlock’s waist.

They maneuvered themselves out of the room and Sherlock’s thanks himself for the choice of a hotel with wide stairs, “Not really. Only a year and a half. Before I jumped. I’ve only been back for a few months.”

“Does he know you did that out of — omph — selflessness and not selfishness?” 

Sherlock waited until they were safely outside at James’s car before answering, “He does. I don’t know if he accepts it yet. I hope someday he will.”

James smiled as his driver opened his door, “He will. He’s a good man, Sherlock.”

“The best. Weren’t you listening to my speech?”

James laughed, “Indeed I was. Sounded a bit like a love letter, if you’re asking me.”

Sherlock’s smile faded. He lost his voice in that moment and all he could do was straighten his spine and salute in major before him. James did the same with a small, sad smile, “I hope he comes back to you, Sherlock.”

“I hope so too, James. Thank you.” And with that, the major was off leaving Sherlock to enter back into the fray, “Into battle,” he whispered, climbing the stone steps. 

After playing for their first dance, after his first and last vow, after breaking the news of Mary’s pregnancy and seeing the joy on John’s face, after having John’s hand on the back of his neck like he wanted to kiss him senseless, he left. That night, for the first time in years, Sherlock fell asleep after the come down of an increasingly bitter high.

_I replaced all your love with pain. So afraid to face the world alone. Paradigm. My sweet love, I breathe._

When John entered the drug den, Sherlock knew he wasn’t looking for him, but he had hope. So when he popped up with a , “Hello John. Have you come for me too?” and an appalling smile, he felt smug. 

John’s face went from surprise to anger in the blink of an eye when he looked at Sherlock, “Isaac, go downstairs. Mary will be in our car. I have some… business to take care of.” And the tone in his voice told Sherlock that he was definitely in for a storm.

“Save it, John. I’m tired.”

John scoffed, “Save it? No. Absolutely not. What the hell are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious, John?” Sherlock said, standing and motioning to his body and the clothes he’s wearing, “I’m going on a bender.”

“No. Downstairs. _Now._ ” Sherlock had no choice but to follow. 

“What if I told you this was for a case, John? Would that make you feel any better about it?” Sherlock said, somewhat pleading.

“No. It wouldn’t. Because I know why you’re really here,” John replied, biting his word more than speaking them.

“Do enlighten me then.”

“You’re here because I got married. You’re here because she’s pregnant. You’re here because I left you behind. Again.”

“You need to stop beating yourself up for things you cannot change,” Sherlock said, looking sullen.

John scoffed, “I’m a master at self flagellation. You know that. I am going to continue to hate myself for not saving you from Moriarty. Because I could have. But that’s not the point. Right now you’re going to get in the car and we’re going to Bart’s and you’re getting tested.”

Sherlock stopped short, “I’ll tell you what I’ve done.”

John laughed wryly, “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, it’s how much, Sherlock. Don’t test me on this.”

“I don’t want to be around her, John. I honestly don’t want to go out there.”

“Quit being a child, Sherlock. I’m not a toy she stole from you. Is that truly what you think of me?”

“Of course not, John,” Sherlock said, hurt infiltrating his voice, “You made your choice. I have no right to that against you or her. I’m just uncomfortable with her seeing me in this state.”

John sighed, “Look, we’re getting you tested and that’s the end of it. You don’t have to like being around her. I’ll take you home after.”

“Fine.”

 _My sweet love, I breathe._

“You’re on all of this? Right now?” John asked, holding up the result from Molly, “Why? How could you do this?”

“You told me why when we were still at the house. I never told you you were wrong, did I? Maybe stop this facade and come home, John.” Sherlock pleaded, reaching out slightly. 

John stood still for a few moments, just looking at Sherlock’s hands, his own clenching at his sides. It seemed to Sherlock that he wished to reach out as well, but he wouldn’t let himself, “I can’t. I still have obligations to her. She’s pregnant with my child, Sherlock.”

Sherlock bit his tongue, keeping the words trapped behind his teeth. He gives a brief thanks to God that John was too angry and blind to see through it, “I know. I’m not trying to be selfish, but I know you, John. You’re not happy. You said you have obligations, not that you love her, and that’s why you need to stay.”

John groaned, “Do you ever turn that off? And you know not to deduce me when I’m angry. Now we’re going to fetch a cab and you’re going home. I’ll stay with you for the time being.” John pulled his phone from his pocket and typed out something before motioning for Sherlock to leave the room. Sherlock complied, head down.

When they reached 221B Sherlock’s ire had grown. He wanted John for more than just now, for more than just today. When he walked in and saw his brother’s smarmy self sitting on his stairs, he groaned.

“Well Sherlock, back on the sauce?” Mycroft said, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes crossing his face. 

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, crossing his arms.

“I phoned him,” John said, a pleased smile on his face.

“You phoned him?”

“Course I bloody phoned him.”

“Course he bloody did.” Mycroft said, “Despite what you think, John does care. Now, where should we be looking?”

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow in confusion, “We?”

“Mr. Holmes!” Anderson’s voice filtered down from upstairs, churning Sherlock’s stomach.

“Oh for God’s sake!” He pounded up the stairs, furying building, effectively hiding the hurt that was rising in his chest at John’s mistrust and anger, “Anderson!”

“It’s for your own good, Sherlock,” Anderson replied, holding up his hands in defense.

“Where’s my chair?” John asked, standing in the empty space.

“It was blocking my view of the kitchen,” Sherlock spat, hostility coating his voice.

“It’s good to be missed.”

Sherlock didn’t miss the pointed look John sent his way, “I saw an opportunity,” he said bitterly.

“You saw the kitchen!”

“Enough,” Mycroft snapped, “We have more important issues to attend to, don’t you think? Brother dear, mind telling me why your bedroom door is shut?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe to keep things private. That is what one does in one’s home, is it not?”

“You live alone, Sherlock. Why would you shut a door in a flat where you live alone?” Mycroft walked down the hall to Sherlock’s room.

“Alright Mycroft, enough. You made your point,” Sherlock said, sitting up.

John covered his face with a hand, “Jesus, Sherlock.” 

“Why?” Mycroft asked, returning to the living room.

“It’s for a case.”

“What case could possibly justify this?”

“Magnussen,” Sherlock said, a tone of finality in his voice, “Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

Mycroft froze and swiftly turned to Anderson, “That name you thought you heard? You were mistaken. If you ever tell anyone you heard that name in this flat in this context, I swear things will not go well for you.” Anderson nodded and fled the flat, closing the door behind him.

He turned to John, “I hope I don’t have to threaten you as well.”

“I think we’d both find that highly embarrassing,” John retorted, not missing a beat. Sherlock snorted.

“Magnussen is not your concern,” Mycroft snapped, facing Sherlock again.

“Oh and you mean he’s yours?” Sherlock said snarkily.

“I consider him under my protection.”

“I consider you under his thumb.”

“He doesn’t cause problems all the time. He’s virtually harmless.” Mycroft was trying to make his case clear, but Sherlock’s patience was wearing thin.

“He made a man kill himself not too long ago! Sound familiar?” He saw John flinch out of the corner of his eye and felt a brief pang.

Mycroft turned his eyes to John, as if remembering his presence, “This doesn’t concern you, Doctor Watson. Again, I highly suggest you leave.”

John stepped forward, his face set in deep neutrality, “You may think that, but what _is_ my concern is your brother’s wellbeing. _That_ is my _only_ concern.”

“I suggest you stand down, Doctor Watson.”

Sherlock stepped up beside John, “And I suggest you leave, Mycroft.”

“Unwise, brother mine,” Mycroft said, a challenge in his eyes. 

Sherlock lunged forward, twisting Mycroft’s arm behind his back, pressing him into the doorframe, “Brother mine, don’t appal me when I’m high.”

John stepped forward and lightly gripped Sherlock’s wrist, “Sherlock, let him go.” 

Sherlock’s grip only tightened, pressing Mycroft further into the door jamb. 

“Sherlock, enough,” John hissed, now tightly gripping Sherlock’s wrist, fully wrenching his hand from his brother’s arm, “Go and sit. And keep your mouth shut until I’m ready to deal with you.” Mycroft turned around and glared at his brother, an insult forming behind his lips. John held up a finger and point to the open door. Even without John saying anything, Mycroft turned and left, keeping his words to himself. He then shut the door, leaned against it, and heaved a sigh.

“John,” Sherlock said, testing the waters.

John turned around, rage and exhaustion flaring behind his eyes, “I told you to keep your mouth shut until I was ready to deal with you. And I’m not ready yet. Because you know for a fact that you messed up this time. You messed up this time and you can’t—”

The door to Sherlock’s creaked open, cutting John off. The voice that accompanied it was even more shocking, “Sherl? Everything alright out here?”

 _Janine._ Sherlock had forgotten that she was even here. How could he have forgotten about her?

John looked at Sherlock, the exhaustion behind his eyes being replaced with hurt. Janine padded barefoot down the hall and peeked around the corner, “Oh, John! I thought it was you I heard. Are you alright?”

John snapped to attention and Sherlock braced to hear what would leave his lips, “Fine, fine. I was just leaving.”

“Oh no need, John. I’m about to get ready for work. And Sherl looks like he could use a shower himself. Come on, you.”

***

Sherlock’s face was immobile as Janine “kissed” him goodbye. He could hear John’s huffs and sighs of frustration behind him and, if he heard correctly, there was a bit of jealousy there. _Good. Feel the pain I feel, John. This is what it’s like when you’re with her._

When Janine was finally gone, Sherlock turned to face John again. He was right to have guessed that there would be jealousy behind those endless blue eyes. John spoke first, “What the _hell_ was that?”

“That was me sending my girlfriend off to work with a kiss. What else would it be?” Sherlock replied, unbuttoning his pristine jacket and sitting in his chair. 

John was silent for a long moment, then took a deep breath, “Why are you doing this to me Sherlock?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, “Not everything is about you, John. Now, are you going to help me with the Magnussen case, or not?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware you wanted my help. For anything.”

Sherlock looked at him, silent and stoic, waiting for an answer. “Yes, Sherlock, I’ll help you.”

“Good. Meet me at Magnussen’s building at seven. Right now, I have to do some shopping.” He stood up, buttoning his jacket.

John stood up and crossed his arms, “We’re really not going to talk about this?”

“Talk about what, John? I’m moving on, just like you did. It seems only fair.”

“I never thought you would… I thought we agreed to stop hurting each other,”

Sherlock winced inwardly, steeling his face, “That went out the window the day you married her. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With that, he threw his Belstaff over his shoulders and left the flat.

***

Sherlock pushed the button beside the lift and waited for the answer. John stood beside him, looking around nervously, “Sherlock? What are you doing here? I’m working.”

John’s head whipped around, “That’s Janine,” he said, shocked. Sherlock held up a hand to silence him. 

“Come on, let me in.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to look nervous.

“I can’t, love, you know I can’t,” Janine said, her voice verging on sad.

“Don’t make me do it in front of everyone…”

“Do what?”

Sherlock pulled the ring box out of his pocket, opened it, and looked directly into the camera. Within moments, the lift door opened and he walked inside, John gaping at him, “Did you just get engaged to break into an office?”

Sherlock shrugged and pulled John into the lift, already tired of his antics. He just wanted this to be over with. He wanted to stop the facade. He wanted to be with John, but he wasn’t naive enough to think that was actually going to happen. He just wanted everything to be over. 

When they reached the office and found Janine and a guard unconscious and everything just genuinely _not right_ Sherlock knew that nothing was going to go to plan. When he left John downstairs to help Janine and pushed the door open to Magnussen’s office, everything fell into place. Magnussen’s taunts of a ‘proper English husband’ painted everything clearly. 

“If you plan to commit a murder you might consider changing your perfume, Lady Smallwood,” he said, sure of himself, always so sure of himself. But the look on Magnussen’s belied the truth.

“That’s not Lady Smallwood, Mr. Holmes,”

And when the woman turned around, his heart sank to his knees. Mary Watson stood before him, clad all in black, aiming a gun at his chest. All he could see, all he could think of in that moment was that Mary had lied to him, had lied to _John_ , a man who no tolerance of liars, and knew that if he told this to John, he would be devastated.

“Mary,” he whispered, shock filling his voice.

“Is John with you?” she asked nonchalantly, as if this were any other day in their lives.

“He’s um… he’s…”

“Is John _here_?” she asked with more force, correcting her grip on the gun.

“He’s downstairs.” Mary shrugged, knowing, in a way, that it was unavoidable.

Magnussen looked up from his place kneeling on the floor, “Now what? Kill us both?”

The smile on Mary’s face face sent chills down Sherlock’s spine. How could he have missed this? This woman who stood before him was not the woman he had come to know. And though he did despise her, he knew that somewhere John loved her. And if he knew this, is it would break him. “Mary, whatever he’s got on you, let me help.”

Mary rolled her eyes, “Oh Sherlock, you can’t help me. And I swear to god if you take one more step I will kill you.”

Sherlock, hoping he was wrong, hoping for once in his life that he was dreadfully wrong, took a step forward, “No, Mrs. Watson. You won’t.” Before he could put his foot down, a bullet flew free from the end of Mary’s gun and pierced his chest. He stared at her.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. Truly I am,” 

Sherlock wavered and began to fall, his consciousness fading before he hit the ground.

_I’m dying para—_


End file.
